Compatibility
by OccasionallyCreative
Summary: Just one moment of a connection. That's all that's needed. [Pacific Rim AU.]


_**Author's Note:**_ _So after months and months of seeing various quotes, gifsets and essays about the film on Tumblr, I finally sat down and watched Pacific Rim. Verdict? I am an idiot for not seeing it sooner. My solution to this idiocy of mine? Write a Sherlolly Pacific Rim AU. _

_Because y'know. Reasons._

* * *

The wall was never going to work; not feasibly at least. Sherlock had known that from the moment the world governments had announced the plans. Yet still he worked on them, diligently hammering and drilling as the work dictated, moving on to whichever part of the wall was being built next.

His latest shift had taken him to Dover, where the wall was said to be just as high—if not higher—than those infamous White Cliffs. When he'd got there, he had found that the rumours had been true. Daily, men were hard at work. On the day he arrived, he was duly sent right to the very top of the wall; not because he was the most skilled or the most acrobatic of workers, but because he was the only one who wasn't afraid of the prospect of death. Not ever since his involvement in the Jaeger programme, anyway.

In fact, that was how they found him. At the start, it had been an ordinary day. When the helicopters had flown over however, Sherlock knew that ordinary was going to be a very slim prospect. It was with a sigh that he gripped onto the sides of the scaffold and quickly descended.

The man who had come to greet him was a short man, with greying blonde hair. Sherlock knew him immediately as Marshal John Watson; a legend among Jaeger pilots. He'd fought in the days of the Mark I Jaegers, and along with his partner Mary Morstan, the two had taken down some of the very first Kaijus and kept the attacks at bay for nigh on 3 years. It was an injury to his shoulder that had stopped them from continuing into the days of the Mark II.

John offered him a shake of the hand but Sherlock turned on his heel and walked back into the building. Saying nothing, John followed. He only stopped when Sherlock sat himself down on a low wall, putting his bag to the side. After a moment of silence between the two, he spoke.

"You want me to come back."

John raised his eyebrows slightly. "How'd you work that out?"

"Why else would you be here? You are waging a war, after all. I doubt you have time for social calls."

"True. Sherlock, you know as well as anyone that the wall will not work. Every week, the Kaijus are getting bigger. So now, Jaegers are back in business."

"Only a matter of time," Sherlock said, shrugging. "You managed to make something out of the wreck I brought back I assume."

"It wasn't a wreck, Sherlock," another voice said. Sherlock glanced up to see that another figure had entered the building. Dressed in a similar uniform to John, she carried her hands behind her back and her face was warm but stern. Sherlock smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen Mary. She nodded once in greeting and continued. "Everyone knows you did well to bring Gipsy Danger back on your own. Lesser pilots would've died."

"It doesn't matter. I still won't allow anyone else inside my head." He aimed a look at the two Marshals before him. "Or have you conveniently forgotten my reasons for leaving the Jaeger programme?"

Without another word, he stepped past them. Behind him, he heard John sigh softly.

"You once told me that the Drift was where you felt strongest."

"Opinions can change," Sherlock snapped. John sighed heavily, but Mary shook her head and placed her hand on his chest, calming him. With that, she turned back to Sherlock and stepped towards him.

"I'm going to be honest here. We're at war, Mr Holmes. And it's a war we can't hope to win unless we have minds like yours on side."

Sherlock smirk, amused as he crossed his arms. Mary however, remained undeterred.

"It's simple. You either die here. Or in a Jaeger."

For a long time, the three of them said nothing. Sherlock's gaze flitted between Mary and John as he considered their words. They were right; there was nowhere he felt stronger than when he was in the Drift, his mind melded with another's with their thoughts ebbing and flowing like waves. His smirk widened as he looked to John.

"Where's the new base?"

"Hong Kong. We have eight months there before the world government shuts off our funding. Then it's up to the wall to become our defence."

Sherlock scoffed. "You know you have a challenge on your hands don't you? The only person who could ever connect with me before was my brother. I dare you to find someone better."

Now it was Mary's turn to smirk. "We've drawn up a list."

* * *

The base was located at Hong Kong Bay, and after several hours of debriefing from both John and Mary during the flight, they arrived at the Jaeger station. Sherlock was the first to step out, and the first thing he saw were a man and a woman standing by a truck, yelling at one another through the driving rain. John popped up beside him, now carrying an open umbrella in his hand.

"Dr. Anderson and Dr. Donovan. Two of the best scientists in the country—but their banter could improve."

"Careful!" Donovan—the woman, she had tightly curly hair and looked to be in her mid-20s—snapped at a random guard. The man, now known as Anderson, sighed and glared at John.

"Sir, why do I have to be saddled with this Kaiju groupie?!"

John didn't even time to answer, for Donovan had already turned her anger on Anderson and they were quickly embroiled in yet another heated argument. John glanced apologetically at Sherlock and handed him his own umbrella.

"I suppose you're ready to meet the candidates then?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Better late than never."

* * *

It was with a look of utter indignation that Sherlock stood in the middle of the station's gymnasium, his arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head.

"No."

The woman stood in front of him tried (and failed) to suppress her disappointment. Mary rolled her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"She's too small," Sherlock said over his shoulder. "Too nervous. She's a rookie at best."

Mary stepped forward. "_She_ is Molly Hooper, one of our best and brightest and the runner of the Mark II restoration project."

"That's irrelevant. She's got little to no experience. Look at how nervous she is. An actual Jaeger pilot learns to quickly suppress that."

As he spoke, Molly tightly looped a finger around her honey-brown curls. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Stop that."

Her hand immediately dropped back to her waist and she stared at the floor, the very tips of her ears burning a bright pink. He turned back to Mary.

"Anyway, I thought you said you'd made up a list of candidates. Let me see it, and I'll decide."

Sighing, Mary reached into her jacket and brought out a single piece of paper and pressed it into Sherlock's palm. He unfolded it and let out a growl of frustration.

"This isn't a list! This is a scrap of paper, and only _her_ name is on it!" he said, pointing an accusing finger at Molly, who quietly stepped back once.

"That's because she's the only one who has any possible hope of being compatible with you."

"There are over 6 billion people on this planet. And you're telling me that only _one person_ can be compatible with me?"

"Look," Mary said impatiently. "Her simulator scores are nigh on perfect. Her fighting techniques are eerily similar to your own, and she isn't afraid to take a chance. On paper she's perfect for you."

"On paper, yes. But people with perfect test scores so often break down when faced with the real thing. I know; I've seen it. Plus, she's small. And need I remind you that is about physical compatibility as well as mental?"

"God, this is going to take all day. Molly," Mary said, turning to face her. "Show him."

"What? Now? I—I…"

Mary settled her hands on Molly's shoulders. "You can, and you will. Understand?"

"Understood, ma'am," Molly said quietly, head bowed. Mary grinned and stepped to the side, gesturing for them to begin. Both Sherlock and Molly silently prepared themselves. Molly removed her boots and picked up her fighting stick. It was with a degree of amusement that Sherlock saw that they did it at exactly the same time. He didn't even need to look at Mary to see that she was currently smiling happily. Slowly, he made his way to the centre of the gymnasium, stopping right opposite Molly. He knew that he was glaring, but didn't care. His expression softened however when she did nothing but smiled warmly at him as she scooped her long hair into a ponytail. His mind decided that he didn't like it that way. The ponytail only served to harden her features.

"Remember, four strikes marks a win," Mary said. Sherlock nodded, his gaze still fixed on his opponent.

"I would tell you this is about compatibility, but you know that already."

"And I would remind you that this is not a fight, but a dialect," Molly retorted. "But you know that already."

Sherlock smirked. So this Molly did have some spark in her after all.

"I won't hold back."

"That's fine. Because neither will I, Mr Holmes."

She smiled again as they both stepped back slightly until they were standing at the very edge of the grid of mats. It was only when Mary directed an encouraging nod towards Molly that she moved, twirling and striking until she came to a stop, her body now in a perfect fighting stance. With a grin, Sherlock replied in kind, twirling the fighting stick between his fingers before setting into his own preferred stance. Molly gave no indication of being impressed, but instead stayed where she was, her expression blank. Her eyes however, gave away what she was thinking, as he saw how they lightly scanned his body approvingly.

So she was distracted. _How deliciously wonderful,_ Sherlock thought and he moved forward, bringing the fighting stick down, only stopping when it was inches from the top of her head. His grin widened.

"1, 0."

She moved so quickly, it was as if someone else had taken her place. Her arm swung round and she knocked his stick away from her, bringing her own against his face. Unlike him, she only stopped when it was centimetres away from him.

"1, 1."

_Hm. She's better than I thought._

With her movements now methodical, she moved back to her beginning stance. Sherlock took the opportunity and swung round, touching her on the hip.

"2, 1."

He stepped back, and again her eyes scanned him. This time though, her gaze wasn't so approving; more appraising. Looking for the right angle.

_So I might as well give it to her._

He lunged forward in an attack move, but she swiftly parried him with a defence block. Yet before he even had a chance to reply, she was on him, using attack after attack. In swift succession, he blocked each one. It was when he tried to attack however, that she got him. Smacking his stick away, she touched at his shoulder and smirked, tilting her head a little.

"2, 2."

With that, she moved back into another, different fighting stance, ready for any attack move he may have decided to grace her with. He had to admit it to himself; he hadn't felt such a rush fighting anyone since his previous time in the Jaeger programme.

But that didn't mean he was going to lose.

He launched with a series of basic attacks, his movements more fluid and less controlled than his previous efforts. _It's that damn ponytail_, he thought accusingly as he tried to get past her defence. _It's distracting me. If she'd just kept her hair down!_

All of a sudden, he was on the floor. Quickly, he threw himself into a forward roll and jumped to his feet, turning back to his opponent. Her cheeks were flushed now from the effort of the fight, but still she laughed, beckoning him forward. So, she was getting cocky.

And it was that which allowed him a window. As she aimed an attack at his upper body, he hooked an arm around her chest and threw her over his shoulder. She landed on the ground with a loud thump. Any fighter with less skill would have been out by now, but as he'd seen, she wasn't like many fighters. She sprang up to her feet, swinging into a new, more aggressive stance, with both her feet and arms widths apart and her gaze locked onto his.

There was a moment of quiet between them as they each considered one another. Soon however, they launched into another to-and-fro of attacks and defences, of parries and thrusts. Any attempt at counting strikes had been lost as they ebbed and flowed together within the fight. Both of them weren't thinking about techniques or strategies, not anymore. It was responsive biology, if it was anything.

She aimed at a swinging attack at the base of his ankles, and he swiftly deflected it, jumping into the air. In response, she rolled and gripped tightly at his thigh with her arm and tugged him downwards, landing him on his back. He groaned, winded from the sudden fall as she stood on her knees, his leg still wrapped in her tight grip. They stared at one another for a moment, and she smiled. It pleased him a little to see that the move which had defeated him had caused the ponytail to come undone, leaving her hair to fall around her shoulders in a tangled set of curls.

"Well!" Mary said suddenly, clapping her hands. Sherlock shook his head slightly. Had Mary been there all the time? In the midst of their fight, he'd forgotten. Molly got to her feet, and held out her hand towards Sherlock.

He took her hand and got to his feet, muttering "thank you". She merely bowed her head and looked away from him. It was strange really. The ferocity which she had used to quite literally bring him down to earth was fading now, overwhelmed by the same shyness that had caused her to previously loop her fingers around her hair when nervous. Mary stepped towards the two of them.

"So, Mr Sherlock Holmes. What's your stance now?"

Sherlock finally drew his gaze away from Molly and looked towards Mary. "What was the score?"

"4 for 4."

Molly blushed again, tucking her hair behind her ear as he glanced at her once more. He thought back to the fight. The only time he had felt that filled with adrenaline and that connected to someone was when he had been inside the Drift.

"She'll do," he said finally with a small nod of his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Molly try (and once again fail) to bite back a smile. Quickly, he put back his fighting stick and left the room.

_Yes_, he mused. _She'll do just fine._


End file.
